


Oceanside

by Panem



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M, Fic Exchange, Spring Fling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-14
Updated: 2013-03-14
Packaged: 2017-12-04 21:46:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/715441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Panem/pseuds/Panem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: </p><p>It's the Quarter Quell. Annie has been saved by Mags volunteering but Finnick is going back into the arena. Finnick prepares for the arena and says goodbye to Annie.</p><p>Also, there is a little of the second prompt:</p><p>Everlark from the POV of any other character in canon, any time over the three books. Can be an existing scene or new scene(s). What do their friends or family think about them and their relationship (or lack thereof)?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oceanside

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wincechesters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wincechesters/gifts).



My fingertips ache from the pressure of digging into his strong, firm shoulders. In this moment, it’s the only thing keeping me tethered to reality.  
  
Each movement of his is slow and deliberate, trying to make sure every fleeting second we have together lasts. He takes his time and the gentle rocking of his hips into mine only makes my traitor of a body beg for more. But that is not the point of this, not this time.  
  
Tomorrow is the reaping and this is our goodbye.  
  
I know what will happen tomorrow; it was planned out just moments after Snow made the announcement that all previous living victors will again be sent to the reaping. No matter what name is drawn, Finnick is going back into the arena and taking Mags with him. I begged them to let me go instead, but they wouldn’t allow it. Finnick tried to convince me that it was because I could get them more sponsors this way and that they needed a capable mentor who was on the rebels’ side. But I know the truth: he knows I can’t handle going back. I know I wouldn’t last ten seconds in another arena. I would try, God knows I would, but it’s painfully clear that he is right. The voices would take over and I wouldn’t even make it off of the pedestal in whatever evil version of hell they decide to drop the tributes off in this year.  
  
He’s so much stronger than me, he always was. Even when he’s at his worst, it’s still better than my best. When his own demons take control and he’s at his breaking point, Finnick is still incredibly strong, even when he doesn’t realize it. The days following his return from the Capitol are always the same. He is a shell of himself. Some days I find him just staring out at the ocean, wearily tying knots with a weathered piece of rope, looking like his mind is elsewhere. After the games every year he won’t leave my bed for days, resting his head in my lap before finally allowing the pain to leave his body through tears. It is then that I know the torment he lives with, but even then, he is stronger than me.  
  
His golden skin is pulled taut against his flexing muscles as he barely holds himself over me, his body rolling against mine in agonizing torture. My mind must continually force my body to hold on; I’m not ready to give in just yet.  
  
He takes the back of my neck in his hand and tilts my head, forcing me to look straight into his eyes. Every time I look into them, I am reminded of the sea glass we find on the beach. Like something hard that was once impenetrable, softened by the rolling sea and calmed by the chaos under the waves and against the sand. They are still the most beautiful shade of green I have ever seen. Before I met him, I never knew that color could even exist in nature. And some days, I’m still not convinced it does except in his eyes.  
  
His breathless voice speaks for the first time to me in what feels like years, “Annie, are you with me?”  
  
This question isn’t some request for a declaration of solidarity or even a concern over my devotion to him. He knows I will love him until the last wisp of air leaves my lungs and that I would follow him to the ends of the earth. Unfortunately, this is one of the moments where he feels the need to verify that I am in the moment, here, with him now. He knows that when I am with the others, I go to another place in my mind, and no matter how hard I try, sometimes I slip back there when I don’t want to. It can be from the simplest triggers - an innocent gasp for air or moan of ecstasy, and suddenly I’m transported to the arena or into the bedroom of some Capitolite with a perverse sexual appetite who paid for the pleasure of my company.  
  
When they would choose me it was as if they paid for a doll. They hoped my dead, lifeless eyes could not see their acts of depravity. That the limp, vacant body I gave them would not remember the heinous acts they would force upon it. My submissiveness was a form of coping and my own small act of rebellion. But eventually, no one wanted the broken girl. My own lack of mental stability was my savior and my burden.  
  
I never thought I would or could be a romantic or even use the phrase “making love.” If things had been different and Finnick and I had found each other some other way, I’m sure the two of us would have made fun of those who used such overly dramatic or sappy terms for where we are now. But I can’t call what we are doing anything else; it’s the one physical act that Snow has not taken from us. When Finnick and I are apart, our bodies are mere tools to be used at Snow’s disposal. But when we are together, like we are now, it's just us and the love we share for one another. He knows that there are times when I must remind myself of where I am and not slip back into the place where I retreat. He’s never angry or hurt because he knows that we are the only ones who truly understand the emptiness that comes along with being crowned a victor.  
  
I pull myself into the moment. I grip his shoulders tighter and shift my hips, causing our pelvises to press flush against each other. He slides himself in deeper while I wrap my legs around his thick, muscular thighs. I barely gasp “yes” to answer his question before he has captured my mouth with his. Our lips crash into each other and our tongues fight desperately for dominance.  
  
Since the reading of the card a few months ago, Finnick has been training relentlessly, knowing that he would be going back in. He has made several trips to the Capitol under the guise of meeting with lovers, to speak with his contacts there and to get any last bits of information he could before the games. He’s even been speaking with previous victors when he could, although contacting them without Snow’s men finding out has been extremely difficult. Our best sources of contacts have been our stylists. Finnick has even been able to contact that drunken mentor from District 12 through the help of Cinna. It’s the only way that we can be sure to have Katniss on our side. I’m sure that the seventeen-year-old girl has no idea of what she has started; I know at that age I wouldn’t have, but I’m simultaneously grateful and terrified of what she has done so far. My heart breaks for the sweet boy, Peeta, who has been thrust into the situation that he has. I can’t imagine being as strong as he has been if I were put into the same situation with Finnick. To have to parade your one-sided love in front of the nation while you quietly die inside would be a torture I wouldn’t recover from. He’s just as much a part of this, and from what we’ve gathered from Haymitch, his silver tongue is going to be a vital part of anything that happens from this point forward. He’s terribly smart, but even he doesn’t have an idea of what is going on outside of their small outlying district.  
  
Finnick pulls away from our kiss, panting. He rests his forehead against mine and clenches his jaw. He’s having just as difficult a time holding back as I am. His gentle hand slides up from my hip and along my rib cage until coming to rest over my heart. He palms my breast tenderly, relishing the way the soft flesh feels against his own and eventually his fingers find the tip and he rolls my small, pink nipple between them. It causes my breath to catch before I release a quiet moan and raise my back and bottom off the bed, grinding myself into him more.  
  
He watches my face contort in bliss and wipes away the strands of my dark hair that have clung to the sweat on my face and neck. “Annie, let go,” he whispers.  
  
I can’t let go; the second I do the spell will be broken and reality will set in. Letting go is so much more than giving in to these urges; it’s saying goodbye, and I’m not ready. I’ll never be ready. This can’t be happening, we were promised it wouldn’t happen again. We’ve paid our dues and given our time. It was the only solace we had after making our way through hell. Snow has taken our bodies, what could he possibly gain from taking our souls? What if we never make it to thirteen? How can I say goodbye to him? I love him too much, this can’t be happening.  
  
I’m jerked back to reality when I feel him hitch my leg up while shifting his weight on top of me. He smooths down my hair before taking my face in both of his hands, forcing me to look into his eyes again. He’s barely able to speak, “Baby, I need you to let go. We have to let go.”  
  
Hot tears are forming in the corners of my eyes right before I feel one of his drop onto my cheek. I shake my head no, but then it overtakes me, the familiar clenching of my muscles. And when I shut my eyes closed, a blinding light takes over my being. I scream out to him and grasp the bed linens tightly in my hands until my knuckles have turned white. The waves crashing outside mimic the ones coursing through my body.  
  
He moves faster on top of me until I feel him shudder with his own release. His body collapses onto mine and he rests his head against the curve of my neck. I have become hyper aware of my surroundings. At first, I could only hear my pulse pounding in my ears, but now a myriad of others sounds come into focus: the seagulls crying, the waves receding, the bellow of a ship's horn, children playing in the tide pools. All the sounds of home surround us and I'm terrified that this is the last time I will share this with him. I'm scared neither one of us will make it back after tomorrow.  
  
Eventually our breathing slows down and Finnick tries to shift from lying on top of me. I hold onto him for dear life. I need to feel him on me; I need his weight, his warmth, and his skin on mine. There is no way I can get enough of him right now.  
  
Our skin is sticky with sweat that won't evaporate due to the humid summer air. It's already turned hot and I welcome it. It's always cooler in the mountains of the Capitol and the heat helps me remember how different it is here and how different my people are. Our light, gauzy clothing is a stark contrast to the vibrant, heavy clothes of the Capitol. Our naturally tanned skin doesn’t compare to their artificial orange (or greens or blues). I hope their image is not the last either Finnick or I see. I don't think my soul could rest peacefully if it is. It will always long for the ocean and the man that is with me now.  
  
We lay quietly together as time passes. Neither of us knows what to say. We've never had a problem with words, but this time speech eludes us. I am the first to break the silence, and I feel it startle him from drifting off to sleep.  
  
"Finnick, I don't know how to live without you. I can't. If you die, I will die with you."  
  
He sits up and looks down at me, the look on his face showing just how broken he is. "Annie, I will see you again and I will always be with you. No matter what happens."  
  
I sit up and wrap my arms around him. He instantly takes me in and caresses my hair. I take a deep breath and shake my head, "You can't promise me that. We don't know what will happen in the arena. Plutarch's plan may not work. They could easily kill you in there."  
  
"You're right, they could. But, we could also get out." He places a finger under my chin and tilts my head up. He holds my gaze, his sea green eyes bleeding into my own peridot-colored ones. "Annie, you have to have faith in this. It's our only chance. Now is the time, and it all starts tomorrow whether we want it to or not."  
  
I hold him close to me and nod my head. "I just can't say goodbye."  
  
"Then don't. This isn't a goodbye. I will see you in thirteen. It may take a little time but I will see you there, and when I do, I will make you my wife. Snow will not have that control over us anymore. I will only be with you from then on, until the day I die. He will no longer possess my body, you will. And it will only be yours as long as you'll have me. I love you, Annie, and no one will ever make me say or think otherwise. All of this is for you. My willingness to put my life on the line is just so that I don't have to hide my love for you. And if we are one day blessed with a child, he won't know the life we did. He will not fear the reaping and neither will we. We have to do this, and we will."  
  
I kiss him softly and breathe him in, filling my lungs with his scent to memorize it forever. "I love you, and I will see you again."  
  
He slides us back onto the bed. His arms encircle me and I nestle as close to him as I can. Darkness has taken over the sky and we both start drifting off into the twilight. Tomorrow will happen; we have no control over that. We only have control over how strong we will be from this point forward. For the first time, I believe him when he tells me that we will see each other again. I will be strong for him.  
  
This is not our goodbye; this is our promise to be together again. **  
**

**Author's Note:**

> I was very excited to get an Odesta prompt option. I have been wanting to write something focusing on them for a while now and I would just like to say thank you to madefrommemories for the opportunity to write this for you, I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Also, thank you to sunfishdunes for her beta work on this story. 
> 
> This story's title was inspired by one of my favorite songs that I can't help but think of Annie and Finnick when I hear it:
> 
> The Decemberists
> 
> _Oceanside_
> 
> Sweet Annabelle,  
> As seen reclining on an ocean swell  
> As the waves do lather up to lay her down 'til she's fast and sleeping.  
> Oh well, I guess I'm something of a ne'er-do-well- who fell asleep at the pealing of the steeple bell.  
> I'm on track and keeping. 
> 
>  
> 
> But oh, if I could only get you oceanside,  
> to lay your muscles wide,  
> it'd be heavenly.  
> & oh, if I could only coax you overboard,  
> to leave these lulling shores,  
> to get you oceanside.  
> Oceanside. Oceanside. oh. 
> 
>  
> 
> At rising tide, you're looking fresher than a July bride.  
> We're picking up what our mothers always stigmatized.  
> The field is right for reaping.  
> Oh well, I guess I'm something of a ne'er do well,  
> even though that's something I could never do well.  
> I'm on track and keeping. 
> 
>  
> 
> But oh, if I could only get you oceanside,  
> to lay your muscles wide,  
> it'd be heavenly.  
> Oh, if I could only coax you  
> overboard,  
> to leave these lulling shores,  
> to get you oceanside.  
> Oceanside. Oceanside. oh.


End file.
